


How the World Could Be

by KChan88



Category: Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 06:40:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18795013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KChan88/pseuds/KChan88
Summary: Persephone finds Orpheus sleeping by the railroad tracks a year after the events in Hadestown. Seeing the young man who is like a son to her still deep in grief for Eurydice and unable to work on his music, Persephone searches for a way to remind Orpheus of who he is.





	How the World Could Be

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a small drabble that popped into my head! I hope you enjoy. Heavily influenced by seeing the show, as well as Reeve Carney's portrayal of Orpheus and, obviously, Amber Gray's portrayal of Persephone in the new Broadway staging.

Persephone steps off the train for the first time in six months, exactly.

It’s been a year since the last time she saw Orpheus, because when she returned with spring on her fingertips shortly after the events in Hadestown, Orpheus was nowhere to be found.

The sun itself brightens as she steps off the train and onto the ground, the grass turning green behind her as she walks forward, her suitcase in her hands.

She expects Hermes. She expects anyone other than who she finds.

Laying asleep on the ground near the railroad tracks, is Orpheus.

Or someone who looks like Orpheus, anyway. This young man is alarmingly frail, which is saying something given that Orpheus was probably too skinny _before_ Hadestown, either because food and the money for it was scarce in the colder months, or because he got so caught up in his music—or in Eurydice’s smile—that he forgot to eat sometimes, even when it was warm. His clothes are full of holes and covered in dirt, his skin pale and his old red kerchief faded almost orange. His lyre lays next to him, one of the strings broken, each end curled away from the other.

Persephone’s heart shudders, and threatens to break. She picks up her skirts as the birds sing cheerfully for her arrival, signs of life coming back to the earth as winter melts away.

Things aren’t perfect between her and Hades, and the air still holds a bit of a chill even as she brings spring back with her, but Orpheus’ song really _had_ set the world on the path to right again. He healed the rift between her and Hades and so healed the seasons, even if the wound still smarted.

But Orpheus himself is shattered.

Eurydice can’t remember everything from her life above, as is the fate of all who end up in Hadestown. She seems to remember enough, though. Enough to make her pause with a smile as if she might have heard a song in the air before her mind went cloudy again. Persephone had seen it for herself.

Maybe that is a kindness, in this case.

The workers are different since Orpheus’ arrival too, even if their memories are faded. Their song sounds less dark, and they make more demands of Hades, who makes compromises with them. It’s not always clear if they remember how they were inspired, but they remember the inspiration, anyway.

Orpheus’ curse is to remember it all, and blame himself.

Persephone squats down on the grass next to the sleeping Orpheus, running the back of her hand across his dirt-smudged cheek.

“Orpheus?” she whispers, as gentle as if he might be a piece of china. “Can you wake up, sweetheart?”

Orpheus’ eyes open slowly, and for a moment, for a blessed, golden moment, there’s a bright light within them.

“Lady Persephone?”

There’s a smile in his voice, even, a liquid joy, and Persephone’s heart contracts with pain, because this cannot last.

“I’m back.” She tries to smile too, but it doesn’t quite work. “It’s spring again.”

Any color left in Orpheus’ face recedes, replaced with shadow. And then, with desperation.

“Is she with you?”

“No, honey.” Persephone reaches for Orpheus’ hand as he sits up, but he pulls away before she can grasp it. “But she’s all right. I look out for her.”

Orpheus scowls, and Persephone isn’t honestly sure she’s ever seen him do that before. Stare off into the distance in thought, perhaps. Maybe a rare flash of anger. Not like this, though. Not like this.

“No one is all right in that hell.” He turns away from her, but she sees the tears streaming down his face, making tracks through the dirt. A sob breaks through, and the uncharacteristic bitterness in his voice fades away, replaced with grief. “It’s all my fault. It’s all my _fault_.”

Persephone takes his hand, and though he won’t look at her, he doesn’t tug it away this time. “No, Orpheus. You…I saw you do something so brave. You saved Hades. You saved the seasons.” She pauses, feeling tears well in her own eyes. “You saved me.”

Orpheus jolts, and he looks so young that it hurts. “I couldn’t save her,” he whispers, his voice broken in half. _I couldn’t save myself_ is what he doesn’t voice aloud. “It was so dark and it was so lonely and all I could hear were the voices in my head asking me who I was to lead Eurydice or anyone else out of there. And I couldn’t hear my melody, I couldn’t hear _her_ , all I could hear were those voices, I…I still hear them. All the time I hear them. I went traveling, after, hoping I could make them go away and I _can’t_.”

Persephone doesn’t speak at first, pulling Orpheus to her chest and wrapping her arms tight around him. He stiffens for a good thirty seconds before he returns the embrace, his fingers digging into the fabric of her green dress.

“I know,” Persephone says, running her hand up and down Orpheus’ back. “I know what that’s like.” She pulls away, taking both of his hands in hers. “Have you been working on your music?”

Orpheus turns away again, glancing at his partly broken lyre as his voice goes dead. “No.”

“Orpheus.”

“I can’t.” he fiddles around in his pocket, pulling out a notebook full of nothing but empty pages. “I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what to do. I failed. I failed, Lady Persephone, and that’s all anyone will ever know about me or her. They’ll know me as the one who turned around at the very end, and condemned his love to hell. Eurydice deserves a story told by someone who didn’t fail her.”

Persephone takes Orpheus’ face in her hands, making him look at her. “You are a musician. You are a songwriter. You are the boy who healed the seasons and softened the king of the underworld and brought back the spring. You are the man who was willing to walk to Hadestown and face the ultimate unknown to save the woman he loved. That’s who you are, Orpheus.”

Orpheus shakes his head, even with his face still in Persephone’s grasp. “No.”

“Do you know what people say about you?” Persephone asks, determined to make him hear her. “Do you know?”

Orpheus doesn’t answer.

“They still say that you could make people see how the world could be,” Persephone presses forward. “They still say that. They remember you for that. They remember you for singing in the dead of night, and not just for your moment of doubt. That’s the truth, darling. That’s what you missed when you were gone.”

Orpheus’ eyes glimmer just a touch, even as more tears spill out. “I miss her,” he replies, his voice hoarse with grief. “I miss her so much. I love her.”

“And she loves you. Even if she can’t always remember your face, I know she hears your voice. I know it, Orpheus. And I think she would want you to write music again. Write a song about her, if you can. A song for the world to remember her by. She deserves to have her story told by someone who loved her with all their heart. And that’s you.”

Orpheus starts as if struck by lightning, and Persephone smiles as he takes one glance back at his lyre, and then back at her.

“I want to write about her.” Orpheus grasps the front of his shirt, one hand over his heart. “Do you think I can? I don’t know if I can. Before I always knew I could write music. That I could sing. But I never knew if someone I loved might love me in return. Not until…Eurydice.” He stumbles over the name as if he can’t quite bear to say it. “Now…now I don’t know…what I know.”

“I know you can.” Persephone stands, offering Orpheus her hand and helping him up from the ground. “Let’s see if we can get your lyre fixed, first, all right? I think Hermes might be able to help, and he’ll be glad to see you.”

Finally, blessedly, Orpheus gives her the tiniest ghost of a smile.

 


End file.
